


Hellfire

by TheGirlWithBrightEyes



Series: Fragments of Life [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crying acid, Exhaustion, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Self-Sacrifice, Tears, Trust, Wings, act of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithBrightEyes/pseuds/TheGirlWithBrightEyes
Summary: This story is set directly after the Apocalypse was stopped and Aziraphale and Crowley have gotten off the bus. Crowley is exhausted and they need to come up with a plan to handle the contents of Agnes Nutter's final prophecy.





	Hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> When Crowley walks into the Hellfire looking like Aziraphale he hesitates, while Aziraphale in Crowley's body doesn't seem very concerned at all, he's rather enjoying himself once he realises they will attempt to use Holy Water on him - something he had no way of knowing would happen. This made me think that the whole body swap is Crowley's work and he isn't sure it will work...the memory of Aziraphale's bookshop in flames still burned into his mind. Aziraphale on the other hand trusts Crowley enough not to worry (although I do believe he is horrified of the prospect of what would have happened to Crowley had they not swapped).
> 
> I also work under the idea that the prophecy is all they've got so they have no idea what Hell is planning to do with Crowley - the only heads up they have is that they are 'playing with fyre', which would refer to Aziraphale considering how literal Agnes Nutter tends to have been.

What a day it had been. It felt as long as a decade and Crowley was weary to say the least. He'd gone through more emotions in a day than anyone - cosmic or not - could go through without feeling truly and properly exhausted. That, and he'd also used his powers on a level that he usually never did, like holding his beloved Bentley together for an hour after it had gone up in flames to stopping time under threat...

No, he'd seen considerably better days. There was just one thing that made the end of it slightly more bearable: Aziraphale had, after careful consideration, decided to follow him to his place and stay the night. He wasn't alone. Had they still been in Heaven and Hell's good books, this would have been dangerous indeed but at this point Crowley felt he didn't truly care anymore. The Apocalypse had been averted, barely, and they now had a stressful wait ahead of them until Agnes' last prophecy came into motion.

_When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._

They didn't know what it meant and Crowley was too out of it, too exhausted and too drunk to think about it. He just knew that it had to do with their punishment. It had to. As he unlocked his door and padded into the hall, the willpower that had kept him going the past hours seeped out of him. He swayed on the spot, removing his dark glasses with fingers that trembled so much he dropped them on the floor with a clatter in the silence.

"Crowley..."He didn't turn to face the angel coming up to him, very lightly touching his arm.

"Angel," he murmured and heard Aziraphale sigh. The angel very gently eased him out of his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door.

"Wash off and sleep?" Aziraphale suggested with a tenderness that made Crowley's heart ache. He nodded mutely and the angel stepped up beside him, taking his arm in a firm but gentle grip. "Which way?" he asked and Crowley was reminded that he'd never brought Aziraphale to his home before. At least not since he'd moved to this flat almost a hundred years ago.

"Upstairs and left," he motioned vaguely and Aziraphale steered them into his study, continuing through the hidden door until they were face to face with a statue the angel had not seen in nearly sixty years.

"The statue from the church that was destroyed..."he said, barely believing it. Crowley glanced at it and then to Aziraphale, his muddled and drunk brain registering the wonder on the angel's face.

"Keepsake. Sort of," the demon said, not nearly as offhand as he'd hoped. "Left bedroom, right bathroom," he added, lifting a hand to rub his temple. A headache that had been a soft pressure on the bus was now growing into something much more persistent.

"Ah. Yes. Of course, dear," the angel said quickly and steered Crowley into the bathroom lit up by very white, artificial light casting shadows. He stumbled along, grateful for the lack of doorsills as it saved his toes. Aziraphale helped him sit down on the toilet seat and assisted him as he undressed ungracefully to socks and underwear. The angel watched him with worry. "Oh Crowley, you really do look dead on your feet," he said, shaking his head. He grabbed a sponge from the shelf by the bathtub and wet it, gently wiping down the worst of the dust and sooth. Crowley said nothing, he just let him, too exhausted to be excited about it but he was sober enough now to appreciate the gentle touches.

Then, when Aziraphale was about to help him stand again, his knees didn't want to cooperate.

"Shit..."Crowley swore, his arm hurting where it was bent in a bad angle as his knees buckled and he fell heavily back on the toilet seat. Aziraphale gasped as he fell but stilled, still holding his arm lightly.

"A-all right," Aziraphale said, voice slightly shaky. "I've got this. If you can't walk I'll...I'll carry you," he concluded. Crowley's eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't find it in him to protest as Aziraphale stood in front of him with his back turned and crouched, bringing the demon's arms around his neck before he inched his arms in beneath Crowley's arse. Crowley trembled at the touch, trying to help as much as he was able to. His heart was still not prepared when Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, smiled and _lifted_.

Crowley let out a small gasp, holding on to Aziraphale's clothes as he was slowly and gingerly carried across the corridor, past the giant bird statue and into the bedroom. If Aziraphale was surprised that the bed was of the same make as the sparse furniture they'd passed going here, he didn't show it. Plunder from the Reign of Terror, when so many nobles lost their heads and properties. Made to be flashy. They made a nice contrast to the desolate concrete walls.

Aziraphale tipped him down on the bed, almost keeling over himself in the process. As Crowley fell into the soft down of his bed, he very nearly blacked out there and then, his vision darkening briefly. Somehow he managed to crawl up into semi sitting, holding his aching head. Aziraphale sat down beside him, he could feel the bed shift as his weight pressed down on it. A gentle hand caressed his naked shoulder, Aziraphale's ring oddly warm.

"I know it was hard. And I know I was being difficult," he said, very softly. "I...I can't apologise enough for that. But I think you understand why I did it."

"'Course I understand," Crowley mumbled into his hand, feeling as old as he is right now. As old as time itself. "But I think..."he lifted his head to look at the angel. It felt so heavy, his vision unclear. He really felt like crap. "You probably should have listened to me this time." Aziraphale's lips quivered and he nodded sadly.

"Yes...yes I really should have..."he met Crowley's eyes with sorrow. "Can you ever forgive me?" Crowley's shoulders slumped.

"I already did, angel," he said very gently and Aziraphale took his hand, patting the back of it as if trying to comfort him. Maybe he was. "I just...didn't want to go anywhere without you but I was terrified...I wanted to leave before I ever needed to use the...Holy Water you gave me to defend myself. In the end, I...had to..."

"You...oh..."Aziraphale's eyes widened. "They...they came for you?" he whispered, voice frightened. Crowley nodded miserably.

"Yeah," he wiped his nose on the back of his free hand, sniffling. "Managed to escape, but barely. Came right to get you but...the bookshop..."he closed his eyes, the memory fresh and raw. The bookshop in flames. The smell of burning paper, animal hides, wood and dust...

"So when you said you had an 'old friend' there you didn't mean it." Crowley shook his head.

"No. About as far as you'd get from it, really." Oh he'd been frightened. More scared than ever before in his life. "Thought they'd torched your place. Hellfire. That you were gone for real this time and I'd...lost you..."he trailed off. He didn't want to think about it. It was too painful and it still wasn't over. They weren't safe. Aziraphale wasn't safe.

"Oh my dear," Aziraphale let go of his hand and wrapped his arms around Crowley, who stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture, very awkwardly answering it. "I am so sorry..."the angel whispered, voice paper thin. Crowley shuddered, the glamour fading from him revealing his fangs and black wings, slumped and spread over the bed. With the last surge came the tears, and they were acid.

Crowley gasped and moaned from the pain as the tears cut into his eyes, his skin, blood quickly pooling, running down his face and dripping from his chin. He curled up in Aziraphale's embrace, shivering madly. The angel's grasp on him tightened and through the haze he could feel a tingle as the angel poured his healing into him. Healing the wounds left by the tears as they kept falling, over and over again in self-inflicted torture. When the tears finally subsided, Crowley was a rag doll, Aziraphale's arms the only thing that kept him upright.

Aziraphale moved back slightly, his eyes bright with tears as he watched Crowley shiver violently, blood dripping on his arms and legs but he was no longer bleeding. The angel reached out with a gentle caress, wishing the blood away to leave no trace of it, except in Crowley's mind. Then, he sat up and placed a kiss on his forehead, like a father comforting a frightened child.

"Whatever happens now, we have each other," the angel whispered. "I will not leave you." Crowley gazed at him in exhaustion, his eye sight blurred but he gave the tiniest of nods. Aziraphale then very gently grasped Crowley's limp wings, folding them before he made him lie down, covering him with the sheets. "Sleep now," Aziraphale mumbled. "I will watch over you." There was a rustle of wings, and before Crowley closed his eyes his world turned a shimmering, pure white.

...

When Crowley woke up, he found Aziraphale sitting beside him, his wings held around the both of them like a shield. He gave a small smile and Crowley realised that it was the angel that had woken him. His warm hand was still on his shoulder.

"I am sorry, my dear," Aziraphale said softly. "You might need more sleep yet but... Dawn is rising." He looked rather worried. "It's nearly morning." Crowley sighed, stretching his still weary body slightly, wings rustling against silk sheets.

"You're thinking of the prophecy?" he said, very gingerly sitting up, every muscle in his body protesting. Aziraphale nodded unhappily.

"We don't know how much time we have until we're...playing with fire," he said, brow furrowed. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Crowley admitted and sighed. "But better than before sleeping. I can at least move. I've not felt this crappy since the fourteenth century." Aziraphale swallowed, hanging his head in shame for what he'd put Crowley through during that particular century. All of for sheer stubbornness and inability to make himself go against God's plan. Or rather Heaven's plan, as it were. The two were not necessarily the same thing as he had come to realise.

"Another time I didn't listen to you when I should have," he said miserably. "But I've learned my lesson. Do you have any idea what we should do? I've been thinking about it as you slept, but...Agnes' prophecies are usually quite literal. This one I'm not so sure about." He held out the singed scrap of parchment with the prophecy and Crowley took it, looking at it for several minutes.

" ...playing with fyre," he mumbled, more to himself than anything else. He frowned. "I think this is speaking about you," he finally said, not liking that conclusion at all. "Nothing much'd happen to me if I was playing with fire, Hellish or no. But for you..."Aziraphale paled, licking his lips nervously.

"For me that would be...painful," he said delicately, not wanting to think about it and certainly not wanting to bring up the bookshop. "Unless it's figurativ-"

It was at that moment something shifted. Like the world silencing and tilting before turned back upright. Both of them gasped. It was a rather unpleasant sensation. The angel shuddered.

"Something's changed," Crowley whispered, fearful. "You're right. We don't have much time. I...I need to come up with a plan to keep you safe from fire," he managed and quickly got out of bed. His head spun at the sudden motion and his hand caught one of the posters on the four poster bed before he made his wings and fangs go away, regaining the glamour with more effort than usual. Sighing irritably, he quickly dressed and went into the study, Aziraphale following him closely. He stood aside as Crowley started pacing, trying to think.

"... choofe your faces wisely..."he muttered to himself, over and over, then stopped abruptly after a few minutes pacing. "No...no...that's... But she must... Oh shit..."

"What is it?" Aziraphale asked tentatively, coming closer. "Do you have an idea?"

"Well...yeah, but I don't think you'll like it," Crowley said, gesturing. "But it makes sense now." Puzzled, Aziraphale just looked at him. Crowley couldn't for the life of him understand why the angel just seemed mildly worried and not as frightened as he felt. Then it struck him why.

_He trusts you._

The realisation made him swallow and he looked at Aziraphale, really looked at him. From his plump stature to his blue eyes and the wings he'd yet to glamour away. 6000 years. And Crowley had been there for him all those years, one way or another. He'd always expected Crowley to solve everything. Still did, now. The pressure was tremendous and Crowley honestly didn't think he could fix everything.

"Only demons possess," Crowley started, and Aziraphale blushed pink. "Except you've done it, too, so angels obviously can."

"Yes, I...yes. We apparently can," he agreed, looking slightly flustered. It hadn't been his proudest moment but he had been desperate and to his defence only chosen a willing host. He'd been kind to her, although persistent.

"You should be safe from fire," Crowley said. "If they think I'm you." Aziraphale blinked. Then blinked again.

"Oh? Oh." He looked uncomfortable. "B-but would that even work. I mean..."Crowley looked at him wearily and Aziraphale blushed deeper. "Yes. Yes, will listen to you this time. Let's go with your plan. I have none better. But you are right - I definitely don't like putting you in danger in my stead."

"Don't worry about that, I can handle myself," Crowley gave him a small smile, feeling slightly relieved that Aziraphale for once didn't argue with him. "Think of it as...wearing another suit, sort of. This time you'll be alone in a different body." He felt a lot less confident than he'd let Aziraphale know, but quite willing to give up his corporeal body if it meant the angel would be safe from harm. Even if this didn't work as planned it would be worth it.

"Okay," Aziraphale nodded, then smiled at him. It made things feel better. Loosened the knot slightly. "What do I do?"

"We touch and swap," Crowley said. "Mind you, this body isn't in awesome condition after yesterday. It needs more rest." Aziraphale nodded, sighing.

"So we swap and I let your body sleep a bit more?" he asked and Crowley gave him a small smile. He'd always been more fond of sleeping that the angel.

"Yeah. Well, I guess we'd better get on with it. While you sleep I'll try finding out what changed." Aziraphale nodded and as Crowley held out his hand, he took it. "All right, concentrate on making this slow now. Don't push or force, feel me as you go. Less stress on the bodies because it'll be difficult getting new ones if we get discorporated now."

"Right."

It wasn't a pleasant sensation, transferring bodies between souls and their statures were different. Aziraphale was shorter and plumper where Crowley was tall and thin. They both shuddered as the move was done and Crowley could see himself lurch and grimace. He felt strange but much lighter, this body less under strain than his.

"Oh you really don't feel well, dear," he heard himself say, the mimic something he'd not connect with his own face.

"Nope," Crowley agreed, making a face. "Go back to sleep and I'll see you in a few hours. Try get as much sleep as you can until then." Aziraphale nodded, rubbing Crowley's neck. He looked very woe-be-gone. "St. James at ten?" he suggested. The 'if I haven't been taken by then' hung in the air. Aziraphale nodded, frowning.

"I'll see you there, then. And Crowley..."he gave him a worried look Crowley hoped he'd never given anyone before, and never would. "Be careful. We don't know what they are planning. Also, don't use any miracles if you can help it. I'm not sure they won't give us away."

"Same to you. If Hell turns up just...pretend you're me. Be a polite arse. It usually works. Hopefully Hastur will leave me alone for a bit longer but I can't know, keep out of his range if you do meet him. They're angry with me, but the prophecy only mentioned fire so we'll have to focus keeping you safe from Hell for now. Just remember that he's a Duke of Hell, not some kind of Tempter demon or something..."

"I promise," Aziraphale said with a small smile and glanced over his shoulder. "You said to sleep..."

Crowley watched him go and then looked down on his hands. Aziraphale's hands. He didn't know if this would work and he was scared - much more than he'd let on. But at the very least, if this didn't work, Aziraphale's soul would be safe and it would only be his that burned.

It could hardly be worse than Falling.


End file.
